Municipality of Lubao, Pampanga Province, Philippines
"You know, just speaking for myself..."
Sister Marta blows a stray hair away from her eyes. Her posture is solid.
"I've been through enough hard times that I'm not keen on picking and choosing sides in a civil conflict. That said - "
The hair falls back into place. She grunts and pushes it back into place by force.
"Ah, whatever! Listen, I'm here purely on my personal mission. I do what I want, and I leave when I don't. And so far, You've pointed me towards people that need helpin' and people that need stoppin'."
Municipality of Lubao, Pampanga Province, Philippines
"...sempre me rege, me guarda, me governa e me ilumina. Amém."
Sunlight streaked into the shaded building, filling in the grooves on wood-carved reliefs. The space within is quiet, save for the occasional footstep or sound from without the walls. A figure lies knelt upon her pew, her knees occasionally fidgeting, her hands running over a metal rosary, her murmured prayers audible to passersby. Despite her anxious clumsiness, her tone is steady and calm, each prayer offered with metronomic constancy and precision.
A loud ringing emanates from the campanary, interrupting her meditative trance. Birds roosting outside are sent flying from the surprise, their shadows passing by the windows and temporarily obscuring the beautiful altarpiece.
The sister breathes deep and stands up, a hand rising to adjust the veil of her habit, hands brushing over clipped hazel bangs of hair. She stops for a second, as if trying to build up energy, and after checking that no one is looking, does a spot of shadowboxing against the wall.
"Right, good to go." One uppercut later, she was flying out the church doors and to a meeting she's sure to arrive somewhat late to...
The Gauntlet of Wrath. When active, the Arm's power is devastating. Strikes from the Left Hand have ruined most known mundane structures, cracking dams, rending buildings, and shattering concrete pavement beneath one's feet. Marta has yet to employ the full power of this ability for violence, but battle tanks smashed into pieces and sent flying are a convincing data point. The effects of the Left Hand also strengthen Marta's body considerably, though much less than what is outputted - she can take most Small Arms and Light Weapons to the face and live, but a solid punch from her will still send herself flying from the recoil.
The Right Hand of Mercy:
The Gauntlet of Kindness. When active, Marta can emit an aura that heals all nearby living beings within 33 meters. This effect is indiscriminate - friend and foe are fully healed and restored to vigor. This effect will work on wounds received in the last three minutes and heal any injury short of death.
For the Left Hand is Might, but the Right Hand is Mercy:
Only one Hand can be active at any one time. Switching from one to the other requires roughly 33 seconds of concentration. Each hand has only five charges of its full power - they can be used fifty times each at significantly reduced output. Output cannot be recovered except by resting or, once a day, taking a full hour to pray the Rosary three times.
Misc Abilities:
Oath to Order: As a (Self-Titled) Sister in service to the Lord, Marta has collected not only a fairly solid understanding of theology but a set of abilities suited to humanitarian aid. She's not exactly a UN paramedic, but she can provide first aid, forage for food, aid in disaster relief, and other emergency functions.
I *am* a Holy Woman, I *Will* Beat You Senseless: Marta is trying hard to get the hang of the whole "Turning the other cheek" affair, but at the end of the day, a mean left hook is a mean left hook. Years of Boxing classes don't vanish into thin air, and well, sometimes, the people with guns won't take "no" for an answer.
Praise Him with loud cymbals; Praise Him with resounding cymbals: Marta got into drums as part of her music classes in school and has since acquired a taste for percussion. She never quite hit the professional scene before taking her vows, but in these violent days, it serves as a more peaceful hobby than punching sandbags to ruin.
Personality:
Likes: Charity, Playing Music, Action Figures, Storms, Clocks
Dislikes: Deliberate Cruelty, Hot Temperatures (Humid or Otherwise), Religious Dogmatism, Amusement Parks
Fears: Losing control of her power, becoming close-minded as she ages, tight spaces
Bio:
Born and raised in Lisbon, the daughter of the Rocha Family had a solidly middle-class upbringing in a family of clerks and accountants. She spent much of her time running to and fro school, much less interested in formal education than her personal interests. A Latchkey kid with a heterodox approach to life, she spent much more time with a gaggle of fellows, pursuing many interests but with few sticking.
Her first passion was percussion, which she took up after a few music classes at school. The intensity of the rhythm and vibration pleased her on a profound level - it reminded her of the ticking of clockwork and the crashing booms of thunder. As her love of music developed, so did her attunement to the spiritual and abstract facets of nature. Repulsed by the dry nature of the family's work and burning desire to contribute something to the world, she moved to a religious institute but bounced off hard from the rigid hierarchies expected of her.
She's very quiet and private about this period of her life, but what is known is that she emerged sometime later as a self-avowed nun of no denomination, wielding the Hands of Might and Mercy. She's been on a veritable crusade against humanitarian crises, famines, natural disasters, civil wars, and refugee crises. Her Arms have healed victims of terrorism from certain death, blown paths through debris in the aftermath of earthquakes, and pulled truckloads of resources for isolated communities.
Current Goal:
The current conflict in SEA with China is extremely dangerous and has already extracted more than its toll in human life and misery. Even if she didn't have Noble Arms, she couldn't allow herself to stand by and do nothing... so she's decided to stick her nose into the ongoing affairs. She'd rather not hurt people if she can avoid it, but she's more than determined to do all she can to bring the war to an end.
Military or Civilian Rank: Sister (Self-Proclaimed)
Marta had been trying to prepare for essentially anything, but having Nil suddenly thrown onto the deck from nowhere still came as a surprise. Thankfully, she had already experienced enough emergencies that she needed little time to run to his side.
"Nil! Hang in there, just a minute!"
Her practiced eye ran over his body, already trying to catalogue his many wounds. Thankfully, it wouldn't be necessary to engage in first aid - she raises her right hand clad in gleaming mail and a pulse of bright, gentle light washes over the deck, healing all wounds in an instant.
A figure stands on the deck of the Jose Rizal, arms crossed, looking out across the waves. The gauntlet on her right hand glows with a soft, warm light as she impatiently grips her left sleeve. She taps her rough boots on the floor.
"It's been a moment since I've been on the frontlines... not since that mess."
Brushing her hazel-brown hair out of the way, Self-Proclaimed Sister Marta Rocha stands near the infirmary, on standby for the moment anyone injured might suddenly come by.
"I hope they're doing well... I doubt that colorful bunch would get killed that easily."
Diamond Island Convention and Exhibition Center, The City of Phnom Penh - 11/11/2022
"No, I - wait."
Marta stands up from her position haltingly. Her wounds had mended as if they had never been there, but she had - rarely - been subject to such violence. Turns out being shot really hurt, never mind seeing your own vital organs fall out of your gut. The shock had damn near immobilized her.
"I still - have some vim in me. You'll need the backup... and I have a mean left hook."
Raising her left hand, it flashes white, revealing the armored gauntlet of wrath.
"I've never liked leaving anyone behind to make a run for it; I won't start now. Please."
Diamond Island Convention and Exhibition Center, The City of Phnom Penh - 11/11/2022
Marta shuffles off the ground slowly, her once-pristine habit riddled with bloodstains and bullet holes. Her messy cowl reveals a few stray locks of honey hue, which do nothing to obscure her bloodshot eyes and tear-streaked face.
Typically, the Sister would try her best to present a more dignified image, but it's clear to everyone else that her last stunt pushed her conviction to its ragged limits.
"...Is... is anyone hurt... ?"
She clings to her armored fist and looks to the east, where the sound of rumbling artillery draws closer.
"I-I don't want to do that... ever again. Let's get out of here."
Diamond Island Convention and Exhibition Center, The City of Phnom Penh - 11/11/2022
Before the Soldiers' bullets could perforate Nil, Marta suddenly jumps before her, holding a gauntlet of radiant whites and greens.
"Thirty-Three Seconds exactly! Everyone, hang in just a moment longer-"
In the very moment in which heavy lead riddles the Sister's skull, a radiant light flashes throughout the room. In that instant, all injuries simply vanish as flesh reknits itself. Bruises disappear into thin air as inflammation is erased, and even fatigue is eliminated as ischemic muscles return to perfect rest. Everyone within 33 meters is completely and perfectly healed.
Marta staggers in place, fighting the horrible pain as several bullets are pushed out of her now-untouched cranium. One step later second fusillade hits and her teeth crack from the sheer pressure needed to stop herself from crying out. One more flash of verdant green, and they're restored, alongside the bits of intestine that had gone flying. Tearing a strip of cloth from her habit with her teeth, she bites down hard as she rushes the soldiers. One more flash, then another, then another, she bulls through the hail of bullets, tears streaming from boggled eyes.
The frontline soldiers balk in temporary astonishment; all the time she needs to deliver a devastating gut punch, grab the soldier and trip him over her, grappled to serve as a shield.
Diamond Island Convention and Exhibition Center, The City of Phnom Penh - 11/11/2022
"Speaking of kinetic times- "
Stepping to the side, the Sister grips the back of an office desk and heaves it forward. With an ear-splitting crack of polished wood being subject to sudden and unexpected ballistic stress, a formerly disk-shaped object slams into a group of soldiers and sends them flying straight through the back wall.
"- you don't have to tell me twice, Noel! Consider them held back!"
This said, she grins impishly as she aims an errant mug she found. That's the fun thing about this left arm, she thought. Everything I can grab is artillery.
In any future retelling of the day's events, Marta would swear up and down that she was not asleep when Noel called her with all due urgency and that she most definitely did not startle awake, uttering some kind of strange gurgly cry and reflexively adopt a boxing stance.
No, that story definitely would stay under a seal of confession.
More importantly, she had just been shot from inaction to action, the undirected, stagnant stress now firing from every nerve as she tried to keep stock of the many, sudden developments.
"I'm starting to see it's zero to one hundred in two seconds flat with Task Force Obsidian," she groaned, following the group quickly as she limbered her shoulder. There was a non-zero possibility she'd be asked to punch a ship again, and she was not looking forward to that strain.
"But I'm ready to help. What's the game plan?"
She hoped against hope that no one would actually stand between them and the airport so they could evacuate in peace. Naivete, probably, but she did not relish having to send some poor soul careening into the stratosphere - metaphorically or otherwise.
Legitimate self-defense might not be sinful, but she wished she would endure into less kinetic times.
Not a Sayan